


Supernova

by obaewankenope (rexthranduil)



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: "It's the End of the World as We Know It (And I Feel Fine)", Crowley has REM playing in his head during this lmao, Crowley is the Alpha and the Omega, Ficlet, God is Dead, He is creator and destroyer, Long live Crowley, M/M, The Beginning and The End, sad fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-19
Updated: 2019-09-19
Packaged: 2020-10-24 07:41:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20702357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rexthranduil/pseuds/obaewankenope
Summary: Crowley kneels at the edge of it all. The last of it all. He can see out beyond but there’s so little left now that it’s really just empty space. Absent space. He once was able to see so much here. Places. People. Things that would be built in a decade and ruined in day. Families just ripe for the tempting.Now there’s just ruin.Now he’s alone.





	Supernova

**Author's Note:**

> My title as Most Evil was challenged on the discord and I had to defend it. So I wrote this in like 10 minutes. Enjoy.

“Don’t leave me! Please…” Crowley kneels at the edge of it all. The last of it all. He can see out beyond but there’s so little left now that it’s really just empty space. Absent space. He once was able to see so much here. Places. People. Things that would be built in a decade and ruined in day. Families just ripe for the tempting.

Now there’s just ruin.

Now he’s alone.

The last echoes of what he once held most dear fade away the same way Crowley’s voice fades away, lost in the vast echo chamber that is existence. Or de-existence, anyway.

There’s no music anymore. No noise either.

Sound doesn’t exist in a vacuum and this edge is on the precipice of it. Crowley’s the only reason there _is _an edge. Beyond him is nothing. Just as there is nothing before him. He is the centre of entropy. The focal point of reality.

He’d rather he were just another casualty.

Like…

Like everything else. Everyone else.

_We were supposed to save it all._ Crowley doesn’t have his sunglasses anymore. He doesn’t have a _form _anymore. Not a human one. A physical one. He is as he was made now and that is how he will continue to be. _We did everything to save it. I did everything to save _you_. Why didn’t it work?_

** Wʜʏ Wᴏᴜʟᴅ Iᴛ Wᴏʀᴋ? **

_Because we expected it to._ Crowley knows he shouldn’t answer. There’s nothing left beyond him. Even this voice is because of him. Not the other way around. Not anymore.

** Bᴜᴛ Exᴘᴇᴄᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ Dᴏᴇsɴ’ᴛ Aʟᴡᴀʏs Mᴀᴋᴇ Sᴏᴍᴇᴛʜɪɴɢ Hᴀᴘᴘᴇɴ, Dᴏᴇs Iᴛ? **

_No. But it’s nice when it does._ Even if he hates nice. Even if nice doesn’t exist anymore. Nice was what- nice was- nice doesn’t matter now. _He liked it when things were nice._

** Bᴜᴛ Yᴏᴜ Dɪᴅɴ’ᴛ. **

_What does it matter what I liked? What I liked is gone now!_ If sound were capable in the vacuum, his cries of agony would deafen anything that existed. But without sound, without being, there is nothing that Crowley’s screams on a thousand wavelengths affect.

** Mᴀʏʙᴇ Yᴏᴜ Sʜᴏᴜʟᴅ Hᴀᴠᴇ Lɪᴋᴇᴅ Nɪᴄᴇ Wʜᴇɴ Yᴏᴜ Hᴀᴅ Iᴛ. **

Crowley says nothing to that. He should have. He knows he should have. But he can’t now. Time doesn’t exist. Even death doesn’t anymore. Nothing exists except him. The heart of creation. He’d wondered once how She had managed to create the universe, what she used to fuel its expansion and its wondrous power.

He knows now.

_You made me just to kill me._

**Nᴏ.** The voice disagrees. **I Mᴀᴅᴇ Yᴏᴜ Tᴏ Cʀᴇᴀᴛᴇ. Tʀᴜᴇ Cʀᴇᴀᴛɪᴏɴ Oɴʟʏ Oᴄᴄᴜʀs Aғᴛᴇʀ Dᴇsᴛʀᴜᴄᴛɪᴏɴ.**

_The original snake that ruined Eden and the universe…_ Crowley laughs. There is no joy in it just as there is no sound to it. _I always liked supernovas._

** Tʜᴇɴ Bᴇ A Sᴜᴘᴇʀɴᴏᴠᴀ. **

* * *

Adam put the world to rights. They pulled off their little bluff with heaven and hell. The bookshop got unburnt. The Bentley un-blown-up. It was all perfect.

Just right.

But Crowley itched and he burnt and he didn’t know _why_. Aziraphale fretted. Hung onto like the forces of heaven and hell were about to try and steal him away. Like they were living their last day together over and over.

In hindsight, Aziraphale had been right.

When the things Crowley touches start to fall apart, no amount of wishing puts them back together again. He’s tried. Aziraphale has tried. They’d even gone so far as to consider talking to heaven and hell about the matter before deciding _bad idea_.

The first angel to attack them got one hit in before Crowley, panicking and terrified out of his mind for Aziraphale, grabs the arm of the angel attacking them and they all get to watch in surprise as the angel falls apart right in front of them. Like they were made of ash and Crowley’s touch made them crumble to nothing.

More angels follow after the first, demons too, and Crowley defends them both with this ability he has. There’s fear more and more in the eyes of those that are sent after them. Horror and understanding that _any_ touch from Crowley will unmake them.

The ability is useful for their defence but Crowley refuses to touch Aziraphale. Not after the first time he touched the book Aziraphale had in his hands and the both watched it discorporate into nothing. He doesn’t know what’s caused this thing to develop, why it’s him, and Crowley definitely can’t control it.

The only thing he can do is withdraw.

But he doesn’t leave Aziraphale. Not when heaven and hell will go after the angel if Crowley leaves. Crowley is impossible for them to kill, but Aziraphale is still vulnerable.

So he stays.

In the end, Crowley considers that his biggest mistake.

Because his power _grows_. Soon it’s not just what he touches but what he looks at. His sunglasses disappear first because he looks through them to see the world. He can’t look at Aziraphale. Spends more time with his eyes closed, hands tucked into his pockets because his clothing doesn’t seem to be affected, only his sunglasses and everything else. Then it’s where he walks, so Crowley has to use his wings on the planes of existence humans can’t see to get around. It looks like he’s walking but it’s just a little off, a little too close to gliding like a nun.

But eventually even this becomes impossible for him to maintain.

Gabriel shows up.

The archangel fucking Gabriel is wiped out with a scream.

A scream that goes on and on and on and unmakes _everything _that sound can touch.

It eats through building, through ground, through sky. Through people and distance and books and smiles and all the things that exist.

It reaches to the depths of hell and the heights of heaven and it keeps _going_.

Until all that’s left is Crowley on a little crumbling piece of reality staring at Aziraphale.

Aziraphale who is coming undone before him because he’s _looking at him._

“Angel! Angel no! Aziraphale!” Crowley cries. He reaches out a hand. “Don’t go! Please. Don’t leave me! _I love you angel!_ Don’t leave me! Please…”

And so the cycle begins anew.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos sustain me and you can come and curse me out for this :)


End file.
